Mismanagement
by SummerStarWatcher
Summary: Rose is twenty, and Tom is twenty-five.  Four years ago, something went wrong between them, and now both are sunk into unhappiness.  Can they overcome their stubbornness and come to terms with what has kept them apart all these years?
1. Chapter 1

Rose

I am twenty, and I am ready. Ready for what, I don't know yet. Yet. It should make itself clear soon, right? I mean, that's what Life does. It makes you go to school and grow up, and then after you finish growing up and going to school, it tells you what it wants you to do.

And I am done growing up. Twenty years and five-and-a-half feet should be plenty.

And I am done going to school. Two years at university was enough for me, even though Bill says Well Really Darling Even Caddy Managed More. I do not care that I did not learn about old dead people like Indy or animals like Caddy or plants like Sarah or languages like Saffy. I already knew how to do art, so after two years of stuffy old professors telling me Rose Stop Sketching People And Work On Your Still Life and Rose Why Didn't You Do Your Portrait Assignments (I had, but on the wall of my flat, not the terribly smooth paper he gave us), I quit.

So here I am. All grown up and waiting in my flat in London for Life to tell me what to do.

While I am waiting, I will tell you about my flat.

Bill was happy that I was going to be in London but the uni was across town from him so he picked me out a flat that is close to his house. It is a tiny place, with just a bedroom and a bathroom and a kitchen which I never use.

The bathroom is like a giant aquarium because I painted fish and seaweed and other in-the-ocean kinds of things. It is unnerving, Kiran says, to have a shark staring at you when you are trying to use the toilet. But I don't mind the pink frothy seahorses in the shower.

The kitchen has shining pots and pans and cluttered counters and a refrigerator filled with leftover takeout food. The walls have my art class assignments that I did not want to do on the horrible shiny paper they give you, so it has bowls of fruit and portraits and landscapes and figures, all the boring variety that you have to do in school. The kitchen is my least favorite room.

My bedroom is my favorite room. The ceiling has stars on it because it is hard to see the stars in London, so I painted them on my ceiling in glow-in-the-dark paint. Just like real stars, you can't see them during the day, but at night they twinkle and I wish on them just like I used to with Indy. And Tom. But I don't want to talk about him.

The walls have big pictures of home. Mummy painting in the shed, Saffy and Sarah trying to cook, Indigo playing his guitar, Michael kissing Caddy, Buttercup chasing a butterfly, Sarah's mum trying to tidy up the Banana House. My whole family is on these walls, everything I miss from the past. The pictures are all I have left of them.

There is one more picture in my flat, but nobody has seen it. It is right by my bed, covered with pillows usually. It is a small sketch, and I shouldn't have done it, but I had to. It is a picture of the one who broke my heart, and I know I said I was going to forget about him for ever and ever, but I couldn't help it. There has been a picture of Tom next to my bed for eight years.

The first night I slept in my flat, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like there was something missing. This was silly; there was lots of stuff missing. I had just moved in and all I had was my bed and some clothes. But the feeling wouldn't go away. I tossed and turned and then I ended up facing the wall way up at the top of the bed, and I knew what was missing.

So I got up and rummaged through my bag until I found my charcoal, and I drew my little picture of Tom, and I got back into bed and slept just fine. The next morning, I got fixative and sprayed the picture and it has been there ever since. And I really should scrub it off because I am supposed to be forgetting him and moving on, Kiran says, and I tried to get rid of it, but I just couldn't erase Tom. I just couldn't.

But I didn't tell Kiran about the picture so she won't keep telling me to Get Over The American And Give Some Other Boys A Chance. I do not want other boys. I do not want anyone.

I don't want to talk about him.

So here I am, sitting in the kitchen, writing. Because there is nothing else to do. I used to draw and paint when I was bored, but after I painted my apartment, I didn't know what to do. I haven't painted a picture not for class in months. And it's been years since I really loved my pictures.

Except for the ones of my family. I love those.

But the rest of them don't look right. It's like the colors have no life in them. The pictures have no life in them.

I told Eve that on time.

"Darling," she said, absorbed in her latest picture. "Darling, it's not the colors."

"What," I said crossly, "is that supposed to mean?"

Eve started humming, once more fully immersed in her painting.

"EVE!"

She jumped and dropped her paintbrush. "Yes, darling?"

"What do you mean about my pictures?"

"Well, is it all pictures and colors, or just yours?" Eve leaned down and picked up her paintbrush, accidentally smearing cobalt blue on her skirt. "Oh, dear."

I reached for a rag. "Just mine."

"There you are, darling. It's not your pictures, it's you."

I though about this. Then I went back to the house and thought about it some more. Then Kiran came over, and I stopped thinking about it.

Now I'm thinking about it again.

It's true.

Everyone else says my pictures are lovely, but I just can't see it anymore.

I guess I lost a lot of things that night.

No, no, no, no! I don't want to talk about Tom. I don't want to think about that night in New York.

But I can't help seeing it over and over again.

Fine. Maybe writing it down will help. A little bit. Maybe.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Sorry it's taken sooo long for me to update! I'll try to update more consistently in the future, but no promises, unfortunately. Read and enjoy, and don't forget to review!

Tom

The dream came again. That dream, that mix of memory and imagination, of happiness and sadness and helplessness. That dream I wish would just go away.

It always starts the same.

The smell of cheap alcohol, loud music, people dancing. A party. A girl, a nameless girl, bringing her face closer and closer to mine until I catch a glimpse of pale skin and brown hair out of the corner of my eye.

And I run after her and the party is gone and I'm grinning and running, faster and faster, and I know that if I can just find her it will be all right. And I hear her laughing, see flashes of her smile, and I know she's near and (_where is she_) the sounds are changing and she's not laughing anymore, she's crying, deep heartbreaking sobs and (_where is she_) my arms ache to hold her, to soothe her, and the sounds are getting fainter and (_where is she_) suddenly she's right in front of me.

And I look down into her clear, bright eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks and I try and try to reach out, to wipe away the tears, to pull her into my arms and hold her but I can't move, I can't speak. All I can do is stand there, frozen, as she turns and walks away. Further and further until I can't hear her crying anymore, can only watch.

And then someone else appears and holds out his arms for her and she walks into them. And something terrible is happening inside me and I want to run and stomp and shout and hit something (_someone_) but I still can't move and then she looks up and he looks down and their lips almost touch and I have to move before I explode—

And then I wake up.

I wish I never had that dream. I wish I didn't have those memories or those feelings or anything. Usually I am very good at controlling my memories. Usually I take the ones I don't like and pack them away into a little box at the back of my mind and throw away the key.

Problem is, my subconscious is very good at finding things like thrown away keys. And my subconscious is particularly sadistic, always creating my dreams out of the memories it know will hurt me most. Damn subconscious.

After having that dream, I can't help but relive the real memories. Looking up a second too late, watching her dash away from me, unable to run after her. Finding her in someone else's arms, someone else's life.

Unbearable.

Sometimes, I have to wonder. Will I ever forget? Will I ever be able to completely move on?

I try to put her out of my mind. I try not to think about herm but every day, every hour, something reminds me of her.

No. No, no, no, I'm not going to get pulled into this again. This well-trodden path leads nowhere good.

But I'm up in the middle of the night with nothing else to do. Very well, I'll keep writing. But not about her.

I'm twenty-five now, and still have no idea what I'm going to do with my life. I finished college two years ago, taking extra time to decide on my major (Engineering), and I've been mostly working gigs with my guitar since then. I live in my own apartment, painted excruciatingly monochromatic white, practically begging fro someone to come along and paint bright, vibrant pictures…

No. Change the subject.

My friends think I'm crazy. A degree in engineering, a musical talent, this nice, big apartment… They say I'm wasting it all. I don't have a job, I never throw parties, I rarely have people over. That's because my apartment is furnished with just the bare necessities, no personal touches. And I've had a few job offers from engineering firms, but I've turned them all down for one reason or another. Anyway, my friends think something's wrong with me. They say it's like I'm waiting for something to happen, like my life here is impermanent. Can't they see that all I want is something permanent?

No. Change the subject.

I met my friends in college. They're Charlie, Davis, and Alec, and I use "friends" as a loose term. I don't have much in common with them, but I don't want to meet anyone else. All they think about is beer, girls, sports, and their jobs, in that order. One or the other of them is always trying to set me up with "some totally hot chick." Having learned my lesson, I turn them down every time.

The one time I didn't was a disaster.

The girl's name was Linnea, or Lina, or Lia, or something like that, anyway. I don't remember. Anyway, we went to a bar and had a few drinks, at which point I invited her home with me. She was a blond, or maybe a redhead, and she was an artist: I remember noticing bits of color on her hands. We slept together, and everything was fine.

Until the next morning, that is.

I woke up with the smell of oil paints and pastels surrounding me. I was not fully awake, so when soft lips touched mine, my subconscious made a logical conclusion. My hand reached out and stroked a warm cheek, pulling her face back to mine. "Rose," I whispered against her lips. "My Permanent Rose. I love you."

She jerked away from me.

At that point I entered full consciousness and realized what I had done. I put on a placating expression and made soothing noises, but she jumped off the bed and—

Well, lets just say, it got ugly.

Needless to say, I have not gone on a blind date since.

Linnea/Lina/Lia told my friends about what happened, and they have not let up on me about Rose. If she could hear some of the things they've said—

No. Change the subject.

But I can't. Pictures of her are filling my head, memories are about to explode out of my ears—

All right. Fine. I give up.

I'll talk about Rose.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Last update of the year! Woohoo! Happy New Year's everybody! Hope you like the flashbacks. Rose's POV is coming back next chapter, promise.

Read and enjoy, and don't forget to review!

~Star

XXX

Tom

The first time I met Rose, she dashed across traffic to get to me. I'd had no experience with little girls, had no idea how to deal with her. So I settled on treating her like she was older than she really was.

This turned out to be perfect.

We were instant friends, had an immediate intangible connection to each other. During that summer, Rose helped me more than she'll ever know.

It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, leaving Rose and Indigo behind in England while I went back to America. I visited whenever I could and wrote emails practically every day, but it just wasn't the same.

And then I got to study abroad. My whole senior year of high school was spent with the Cassons, one long, blissful year. Babysitting Buttercup, going to Caddy's wedding, watching Saffy and Sarah fight, playing guitar with Indigo, helping Eve try to learn to cook. Seeing Rose's surly face every morning at breakfast, helping Rose with her homework after school, shopping for brand-new paints with Rose, watching Rose's face light up when I came into a room… It was truly perfect.

And then things changed irrevocably.

Rose was in a particularly bad mood that day; it was clear something had upset her. She stomped up the stairs shouting "Nobody had better come follow me and if they do I will Make Them Sorry." She slammed her door, leaving us staring after her in stunned silence.

"Mad," Saffy said, picking up her backpack.

"Totally bonkers," Sarah agreed. "Come on, Saffy, I know you have some math to do and don't you want to impress that cute math professor at uni?" They trucked out the door, headed for Sarah's house.

I, too, had math problems to solve, but I decided solving Rose was more important. I went upstairs and quietly opened the door. I couldn't see Rose at first, until—

"Go away, Saffy." The muffled order came from a small form huddled behind the bed. Rose sat in the corner, knees drawn up and face buried in her arms. I walked over and slid down the wall to sit beside her.

After a while, she looked up. "You're not Saffy."

"No." Silence. "Tell me what's wrong, Rosy Pose?"

"No." She turned away again. "Ask Indy."

"But what if Indy tells it wrong? What if her leaves out parts or skips parts or doesn't tell the important parts right?"

"Fine! I will tell you." She lifted her head and glared at me, not answering.

"…Rose?"

Rose sighed. "Indy said you're too old for me. I told him that five years wasn't that much, but he said not to count on it. Are you too old for me?"

I thought about it. Yes, she was only thirteen, a whole five years younger than me. But still, there was something about her that was… special. "No, I'm not too old for you."

"Good," she murmured, laying her head on my shoulder. "I knew it."

And that was the day I knew I was in love with Rose Casson. Permanently.

It took another couple of years before I kissed her, though.

I flew to England as a surprise for Rose's sixteenth birthday. It was also the night of her school's Halloween dance. David and Indigo were arguing about letting Rose go alone when I showed up, dressed nicely, with a bouquet of roses. "I'll take her," I offered. It was all part of my plan.

I heard light footsteps on the stairs, so I picked up the bouquet (sixteen of the most beautiful roses I could find) and looked up as Rose descended. I realized she put them all to shame.

First her shoes came into view. Black high-heeled sandals, they looked amazing on her. The shoes were followed by long beautiful legs, pale and unclothed to the mid thigh, where they were covered by her dress.

That dress. As I could see more and more of it, I liked it even more. Made of soft, clingy material, it hugged her suddenly apparent curves with loving ease. The sleeves seemed to be spun out of cobwebs, soft and shimmery, and the neckline dipped dangerously low, accented by a necklace.

I smiled when I saw Rose's sole piece of jewelry. It was the rose pendant I had given to her last year.

But as her face appeared, I forgot all about the rest. She was exquisite, as usual. Her face was dusted with just enough pink to highlight the paleness of her skin, the redness of her lips, the darkness of her eyes and lashes. A cool expression graced her face, until she caught sight of me. It was the most gratifying thing, to watch her eyes light up and her mouth pull into a smile as she charged down the remaining stairs and crashed into me.

I laughed delightedly, spinning her around, loving the feel of her so tight in my arms.

"Tom!" she gasped. "You're here! You're really here!"

"I am, indeed," I chuckled. "And now, my princess, your carriage awaits." I gesture to the door, offering her my arm.

She took it, wide eyed, allowing me to escort her out to my rental car. "Where are we going, Tom?"

I just smiled. "You'll see."

Halfway to her school, she figured it out. "Tom? You're taking me to the dance, aren't you?" I nodded, watching her reaction. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then remarked happily, "My friends will never shut up after this."

"Shut up about what?"

"You. You're a college student from America, and you're taking me to the high school dance. That's Rather Devoted, they will say." She grinned. "After all the times they laughed at me for not having a boyfriend, this will be a shocker."

"A shocker, hm?" I raised my eyebrows.

A tinge of pink infused her cheeks. "That's what Saffy said. She said if my friends ever met you, it would be a shocker."

I wasn't sure I liked this. Saffy's comment left too many meanings open. I sighed, and put it out of my mind, resolving to dance with Rose a few times before I took her to the real party.

An hour later, I decided that enough was enough. I pulled on Rose's arm, tugging her away from the dance floor and off near the back of the gym. Time to make use of all the knowledge I gained in that year I spent here.

"Where are you taking me?" Rose looked reluctant to be removed from the safety of her friends' company.

"Someplace we can be alone."

She now looked a bit apprehensive, but was no longer resisting. I led her up the stairs, up to the third floor janitor's office. Behind that door was a corridor and a set of keys, and at the end of that corridor was the door to the roof. Grabbing the keys, I walked down the hallway, hearing her following close behind. I opened the door onto the roof and spun around, covering her eyes with my hands.

She laughed. "What are you doing?"

I moved behind her. "It's a surprise," I whispered in her ear, feeling her shiver against me. I guided her to the center of the roof, then uncovered her eyes.

Rose gasped, momentarily stunned. She spun in a circle, taking in the scene on the rooftop: bright stars in the sky echoed by Christmas lights lining the roof, a blanket spread out to cover the rough tiles, and roses scattered all around. She turned to me, eyes alight with joy, and leapt into my arms. Really, what else could I do but kiss her?

Thinking back on how happy she was that night, I am once again mystified. That night was perfect.

But the next time I saw her, less than three months later, she was in someone else's arms.

What went wrong?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Here's another update. I'd estimate that the story is about half over (ish), just so you know. You finally find out what happened to Rose and Tom, and Tom's perspective will be next. I'll update as soon as I can, but I haven't even started writing the next chapter yet, so we'll see when I get around to that. Enjoy, and reviews are much appreciated!

Oh, and another thing. I've recently published a couple other Tom/Rose fics, go check them out! Titles: How I Do Special, and Kismet. Thanks!

~Star

XXXX

Rose

My family had given me the best Christmas present ever, I thought at the time. Now I wish I had never gotten that present.

It was a very big box. Filled with packing peanuts and tissue paper that I scooped out as only someone who has been presented with a very large package can. And after all that scooping, I was surprised to find nothing in the box after all.

Indy burst out laughing at my outraged look. "Look again," he said between giggles.

I glared at him, but glanced back into the box. There, taped to the bottom, was an envelope. I peeled it off and opened, overjoyed to find—

"A plane ticket! Oh! Oh, Daddy! Mummy! Oh, oh, Indy, I get to go see Tom! All by myself! In New York! Oh, Mummy! Oh, Daddy! Thank you, thank you!"

Everyone was laughing now, just as delighted as I was.

"You'll be staying in a hotel in New York for three days, Rose. I know its not very close, but you can use a taxi to go see Tom, because I won't have you driving on the wrong side of the road yet," said Daddy. "Just look where that got Saffy and Sarah."

Saffy and Sarah decided that after university they wanted to See The World, so they went off to the continent. Sarah turned out to be very good at driving "very fast and on the wrong side of the road" (as Saffy said) so they were now somewhere in Greece. We think.

Sarah's mum handed me an envelope. "This is our contribution." The envelope had American money in it. "It's leftover from our trip, and I thought you could use it."

"I can! Thank you!" I was still reeling from the news that I would get to go see Tom all by myself.

"Make sure to breathe," Indy said, still laughing.

Mummy made me promise to phone every night and to only go places with Tom or Tom's family and to take lots of pictures (Saffy and Sarah had sent me a new camera) and Bill made me promise to listen to the adults and not do anything dangerous and Indy made me promise to give Tom his present (a family picture and a CD) (mixed by Indy) and Saffy and Sarah rang up and made me promise to say hi to Tom from them and I was nodding and jumping up and down and running around to look for things to pack. Bill looked at Mummy with a look that said Really Was This A Good Idea and Mummy patted his back and said Of Course Of Course Darling Look How Happy You've Made Her but I was too busy to care.

Too busy packing.

Because the plane ticket said Good Any Time, and I wanted to go now.

"Not for another day or two at least, Rosy Pose," said my ever-bewildering but well-meaning father. How could he not understand? I hadn't been to New York since I was eight and I hadn't seen Tom since my wonderfully confusing birthday and I didn't know if he still wanted to kiss me and I had to find out _now_.

The next two days passed in a blur of packing and preparations and a plane trip (all by myself!) and a taxi ride and then I was at Tom's house.

I knocked on the door, hardly able to contain my anticipation. Tom's father answered, and gestured up the stairs.

"Hey, Rose, Tom's up in his room." He knew how much I wanted to see Tom, right away. As I dashed up the stairs (after taking off my sneakers) he called after me, "He has a friend over!"

I paid no attention. I was wrapped up in my mind, imagining this meeting. "Hello, Permanent Rose!" Tom would say, like he did when he was particularly happy to see me. I would reply with a smile and dash into his arms and he would hug me and spin me around like he always did when I jumped into his arms. And we would laugh and talk and kiss and everything would be perfect… I heard voices, one of them female, but was too involved in my imaginings to care. …And then we'd spend my whole trip together, Tom showing me the city like he couldn't when I was eight, perhaps a romantic evening… I flung open Tom's door and stopped short in surprise.

Tom was not alone. No, he very much had a guest.

And

she

was

kissing

my

Tom.

.

And

he

was

kissing

her

back.

.

I must have said something, but I'm not sure. All I remember is the look on Tom's face, shock and horror and someone else's lipstick smeared all over his mouth—

God, I'm making myself cry. I knew I should have just forgotten about this night. I try to move on, but every time I do I hear Tom's voice calling after me as I dashed down the street and into the subway station, intent on getting lost on the trains. _"Wait for me, Permanent Rose! I'll explain! She's nothing to me, nothing, not like you are. Come back, Rose!"_

And being blinded by tears, stupid with sadness and betrayal, running away from the one person I thought I'd love forever…

I can't do this. I can't think about this anymore.

I'll do what Indigo does, when he doesn't want to think. When he wants to forget all about Sarah and forget that she left with Saffy, left for years and hasn't come back and has who-knows-how-many boyfriends in who-knows-how-many countries (says horrible Daddy).

I'll listen to loud, loud music.

But not Tom's music.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Here's another chapter of this story, already! I don't know why, but this one was really easy to write. Really, really easy. (Which is why I'm updating so soon.) I just got an inspiration for the beginning and took off from there.

Anyway, this is Tom's perspective now, about that day in New York and what came after it. Rose's POV next, and then only another chapter or two (or maybe three) until the end of the story! Yay!

I hope you enjoy this, it offers some explanation for Tom's outrageous behavior. (Don't be too mad at him, just remember: he's only a dimwitted male, unable to comprehend the complexities of female thought processes. )

Read and enjoy, reviews much appreciated!

~Star

XXXX

Tom

Oh, and yes. There was that other time I saw Rose. In New York. But I don't like to think about that.

Is that what this is all about? But no… it couldn't have happened that quickly. No, it had to have been something else. Not me. I couldn't have wrecked this whole thing… could I?

Oh god.

If I could take back one thing in my life, I would take back that day. I wish it had never happened.

It was supposed to be a surprise for me. Rose had gotten a plane ticket for Christmas, and she came to see me as soon as she could. It was the first time we'd seen each other since her sixteenth birthday surprise and the beautiful night on the roof of the school… It should have been perfect. That was when we should have building on the foundation of our relationship.

Instead, the foundation was left out until it crumbled. Now all that's left is a gaping hole in my heart.

No, no, I didn't say that. I'm fine, I'm better than fine. I don't need her.

Oh, who am I kidding. Of course I need Rose. When Indigo asks me if I miss her, I always say no, but both of us know it's a lie. With her gone, it's like missing a leg. When someone asks you, do you miss your leg, you don't know quite how to respond. Of course you miss your leg, you can't function properly without it!

The night before, I'd been at a party. And there'd been alcohol. (Of course.) So I'd gotten a little drunk, or maybe a lot drunk, and had some fun. Before I knew it, there was some girl dancing with me. And in my drunken stupidity, I had brought her home.

Luckily, my family was visiting friends out of town for the night (yes, I still live with my parents. What can I say, some of us are broke) so we were uninterrupted.

The next morning when I woke up, cloying, unfamiliar perfume filling my nose, I realized what I had done. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up, partly because of the hangover, and partly because of how sick I felt about what had happened. I fell asleep again on the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

I woke up again a few hours later when I heard the voices of my family downstairs. I stumbled back to my room and found the girl, the girl whose name I still don't know, sitting up in my bed. I nearly was sick again.

How could I have… What kind of person did this make me, that I would cheat on my sixteen-year-old girlfriend who was perfect for me in every way… What would I say to Rose?

The girl stood up and walked over to me. I heard footsteps on the stairs and tried to push her away, but she pulled me down and planted her lips on mine. I struggled to escape the crush of her mouth, but she just wasn't having it.

And then I heard the most awful sound in my life. A sort of strangled, half-gasp, half-moan. A sound filled with shock and pain, horror and disbelief. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach doubled, and I pulled away to look at the door.

It was my worst nightmare.

Rose was standing there. My Rose, my darling Rose, was looking at me with a blank expression, as though she couldn't process what was in front of her.

I couldn't breath. I couldn't scream. I couldn't shout to her, tell her that it was all a mistake, that I had never meant for this to happen. All I could do was watch as she stared at me, then turned away and ran down the stairs.

All of a sudden I could move. I dashed down the stairs after her and out into the street, calling after her. She didn't listen to me, it was as if she couldn't even hear me. I followed her all the way down into the nearest subway station before I lost sight of her in the crowds.

I knew Rose would go right back home, and I knew I had to talk to her. So I booked the next available flight to England, and made it there only three days later.

I spent the flight composing a letter to Rose, explaining what had happened. I wasn't sure she'd let me talk to her, so I figured I'd leave her the letter and once she understood what had happened we could talk.

It didn't happen quite like I thought it would.

I arrived at the Casson house when nobody was home. Eve wasn't in her shed, either. Where had the whole family gone? (Bill had insisted on 'family time' and people were just about to come back, I found out later.)

But right then I didn't know what to do, so I climbed up onto the roof and opened Rose's window and left my letter on her bed, then climbed back out. I didn't quite know what to do with myself, and so I went to the park.

I wish I hadn't. I wish I had just left and then maybe things would be different.

But I did go.

And as I was strolling in the park, whistling one of my songs for Rose, I spotted the very girl I was here for. She was partially out of view behind a tree, so I walked over until I could see more clearly.

And then I wished I hadn't.

Because there was Rose, all right. And there was some other boy. Some other awful boy with his hands on my Rose's waist and his lips on my Rose's face.

And the worst part was, she didn't seem to mind. No, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. I was transfixed; I didn't want to see anymore, but I couldn't look away.

And then the spell was broken and I could look away and I turned and strode back through the park, out to the street where I caught a taxi to the airport and flew back home and that was the end of that.

Only, that's not really the end.

I spent the entire trip back to America wondering who that boy was and how long he'd known my Rose, and if she had liked him before now. (Of this, I was fairly certain. Rose wouldn't kiss someone she didn't love, and she didn't fall in love that fast. I would know.) And I wondered if she had found my note and what she thought of it and if maybe she would forgive me and explain herself and everything could go back to the way it had been before, just a few months ago.

But none of my wondering mattered. Rose never called, never explained herself. She didn't say anything about my note. If she took that one that badly, I wasn't about to try again.

So I haven't heard from her since. It's been nearly five long years now, and I still haven't spoken to Rose.

But I still miss her like hell.

And I wish I could see her.

And I wish I could talk to her.

And I wish I could fix everything.

But I can't. I just can't.

Or can I?


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Almost the end of the story! Thanks to all of you guys who keep leaving me such kind, fantastic reviews! I love reading them, so I just wanted to convey my gratitude. Thanks!

Oh, and you all should check out my other Casson stories, if you haven't already. They are as follows: Kismet (Rose and Tom get their fortunes told), How I Do Special (Tom does special for Rose on Valentine's Day), Writing From A Prompt (Saffy and Sarah practice creative writing, with many interruptions), Long Way, or, South America, What's It To You (expansion and background on a blog post), and Just Say, or, Other Things To Think About (sequel to Long Way, and another blog expansion). I'd love it if you guys would have a look at those stories too.

Again, thanks to the loyal supporters of this story.

Much love,

~Star

XXXX

Rose

The loud music isn't working. My mind won't shut up. So I might as well keep writing, and I won't cry again. But just in case I do, I have a box of tissues now.

After that awful, awful day I came back home right away. There was nothing I wanted to see in New York anymore.

If anyone at home was surprised to see me back so soon, they didn't say anything about it. No one asked me what had happened, no one even mentioned my trip. I don't know if Tom told anyone what had happened, or if Tom's father had, but it seemed like everyone knew.

Of course they didn't tell me they knew. But since my nosy family wasn't asking any questions, I just assumed.

Those few first days were horrible. I kept reliving that moment, wishing I could have changed something, and then reminding myself that it didn't matter and it wasn't my fault and I didn't care.

I did, though. Care, I mean. I cared an awful lot.

Was it my fault? Did I make Tom do that? Was I too ugly? Did I smell bad? Was I a bad kisser? What did I do that made Tom find that other girl?

No, I tried telling myself. Tom seemed perfectly happy when he was here with you, and the whole birthday thing was his idea, after all. It's not your fault.

I didn't really listen to myself, though.

I got tired of questioning myself over and over again. I wanted to find out if it was my fault that Tom had kissed someone else, if he had done it because I wasn't good enough when he had kissed me. I could only think of one way to find out.

So I went off to the park (skipping the Family Time that Daddy insists on ever since Saffy and Sarah left) (no problem there, he always makes us go bowling where you have to put on those nasty shoes that other people wear) and looked around for a cute guy.

I found one. I brushed my hair back and crossed my fingers and squinched my eyes shut, and wished that it would all turn out perfectly, and then I walked up to him.

"Hi, I was wondering if you could help me with something."

He turned around and looked at me, then got that expression that boys had gotten every time they saw Caddy or Saffy for the first time. The kind of awed, shell-shocked look of Oh Man Look At That Girl. I was a bit surprised to see it directed at me.

"Uh, okay, sure," he replied. "What is it?"

I bit my lip, not quite sure of how to say it. "Well, the thing is, um, I'm having a problem."

"Yeah?"

I decided to just blurt it out, since it was unlikely that I would come up with a tactful way to say it. I am Not Very Tactful, Daddy says. "I need you to kiss me."

The boy got a very surprised expression. "Kiss you?"

"Yeah. And then tell me if I'm rubbish at kissing."

"Well, okay then." He smiled. "Come here."

I gulped. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. After all, I had only kissed one person before. I really didn't know how to do it, exactly. But I stepped forward, into his arms, and tried to relax as he lowered his face to mine.

I don't know exactly what I was expecting. Something more like the tingles and shivers I got when Tom kissed me, I think. Something more than the boring and slightly yucky sensation of this boy's moist lips on mine.

I endured it for as long as I could. But when the boy tried to press his tongue into my mouth, I jumped back, and, with some muttered apology or excuse, I ran off.

I saw a figure striding purposefully down the street, wearing a jacket exactly like Tom's and carrying a duffel bag. My heart leapt, hoping it was Tom, come to explain that it was all a big mistake and he really did love me and only me. And then I reminded myself that Tom hated apologizing, and that I didn't care anyway, that I was over him.

Ha. I don't think I'll ever be over Tom. Much as I might try, I'll never get him out of my heart. (But don't tell Kiran. I don't want another lecture on how Americans Are All The Same and I Should Have Known Better.)

Anyway, by the time I returned home, my family had come back from Family Time in their usual grumpy manner. Michael and Bill were arguing about letting Buttercup eat the greasy fries they sold at the bowling place, Caddy was crying because Michael and Bill were arguing again, Eve was going into a cleaning frenzy (because bowling always reminds her of the germs that are Everywhere, just waiting to get someone sick) and Buttercup was howling. Indigo sat calmly at the table, ignoring the chaos around him and eating a sandwich.

When he saw me come in, he got up to make me a sandwich, too.

"Hey, Rosy Pose. You missed another great Family Time. Where were you?"

I didn't answer.

Daddy heard my name and turned around. "Rose!" he roared. "Rose, why didn't you come with us? You know that _everyone_ is supposed to be there!"

This was too much.

I just wanted to hide under my covers and forget that the world existed.

So I ran up the stairs and into my room, only to find that Eve had gathered up all my sheets and blankets and put them in the wash. I burst into tears and crawled under the bed, wishing that someone (Tom) would come in and comfort me, hold me, tell me it was all a bad dream.

Maybe I should crawl under the bed now, too. Maybe that would make me feel a bit better.

Anyway, after that, I avoided home as much as I could. I would spend the night with friends, stay out until everyone at home was asleep, or keep to my room. As soon as school was over, I went to London where Daddy got me this flat. I stay away from all of my family as much as I can, because I just can't think about it anymore.

I miss them, I really do. But I miss how we used to be. When Daddy would stay in London and not interfere, when Caddy and Michael would visit more. When Eve would paint in the shed and Saffy and Sarah would take care of all of us. When Indigo was happy and would play guitar and sing and talk to me. When Tom would visit and call and write, and every time he did happiness would fill me up. I miss that.

I don't miss how things are now. I don't miss Daddy fighting with Michael and Caddy and Mummy and I don't miss Buttercup and Mummy and Caddy crying and I don't miss Indigo sitting in the corner or hiding in his room and not talking to anyone for days on end and I don't miss Saffy and Sarah not being there.

So I painted the way things were on my walls here in my flat, and I want to just go back. Turn back the clock, and pause it, stop time on my sixteenth birthday.

But I can't.

My twenty-first birthday is in four days, and the one thing I would wish for will never happen.

(I wish for Tom to come back).

But I know he won't and its no use wishing for it. And I know that no one will celebrate my birthday, since Kiran is off studying in France this term and Molly is still at her American university.

Maybe I'll have a party all by myself. I'll do one just like my sixteenth birthday, and I'll go up on the high school's roof and no one will be there to tell me I shouldn't wish for impossible things. And I can remember all I want and no one will be there to watch me as I cry, all by myself.

All by myself.

Again.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh do you realize how long it's been since I updated? I certainly do. Far, far too long, that's how long. My sincere apologies for the wait. Things just kinda crept up on me and then all of a sudden I was supposed to be doing what seemed like fifty things at once. (Really only between two and five things, but hey, they each were time consuming and long-lasting. Like school.) Anyway, here I am now, and it's summer. So, this means that (since there's only another chapter or two (maaaayyyybe three if I really feel like it) the story should be finished soon! Yay! And only ten months after it was published, too, such an accomplishment...

Well, anyway, here's another chapter for you all. I made it extra long to thank you for your patience :)

Lots of love and hopes that I will be seeing you again soon,

~Star

XXXX

Rose

It was quiet on the roof of the old high school back at home. Of course, I could hear traffic going by, and see the lights of the town against the dark of the sky, and watch people as they walked along the streets below. But I turned away and faced the houses, and something fell within me.

I called myself crazy and stupid and masochistic for coming back here. I took the train all the way from London to sit, alone, on an old roof on my twenty first birthday.

(On that roof, for some reason, I was even more alone than anywhere else, even though there were no fewer people.)

But I knew the real reason I had come back to that roof wasn't because I was lame, and it wasn't because I wanted to come home and see my family, but was too scared to do it. It was so I could sit, and look at the stars, and think. It was to be alone and to be sad and to remember how things used to be. For the past couple of days – well, past couple of weeks, months, years, but especially the past couple days- I'd been thinking about Tom. I can't get him out of my head.

So I looked about the roof where I had my first kiss and noticed how magic it was without the lights and the music and the roses and Tom (not magic at all) and promptly burst into tears.

It was wonderful.

I'd needed this, probably for longer than I'd like to admit. I'd needed to be able to just sit down and cry about Tom, cry about all that I'd lost without feeling guilty or being interrupted. I simply let all the regret come gushing out, gearing up for a long bout of sobbing, when a noise from below shut me up right quick.

I sniffled quietly and hoped whoever it was (probably a janitor) wouldn't come up here. And if he did, I hoped he couldn't come all the way up to where I was. And if he did, I hoped he wouldn't noticed me, dressed all in black as I was and tucked into the shadows.

After all, what would a janitor do with a strange girl sitting on his roof in the middle of the night and crying?

But I heard the ladder rattle, and gulped as I heard footsteps across the roof towards the high gym roof where I was. I could see the top of the ladder shake slightly, and I pressed further into the corner, watching carefully to see who would appear over the wall.

The sounds grew louder as the climber neared the top and then I saw a hand, and then tousled brown hair, and then a person clambered onto the roof and looked up.

Tom.

And he looked around and all I could think was ghost Halloween trick Indy surprise revenge dream crazy wish dead and then Tom saw me.

He froze.

My mind stopped.

He looked at me and I looked at him and then he took a step towards me and I silently shook and he whispered

"Rose"

And I burst into tears again.

XXXX

Tom

It was stupid, I know. But my first thought when I saw Rose was not how she'd ignored my letter all those years ago, or how she'd moved right along to that other guy in the park, or how she'd probably been just living it up here in London while I was miserable in New York. I couldn't think about the past, I could only process the present.

Rose.

Was here.

Right in front of me, crouched in a dark corner in the last place I'd expect her to be, a place that somehow made perfect sense.

I took a step towards her, reaching out as if to touch and verify reality. I couldn't help but say her name, giving voice to my hope.

"Rose."

At the sound of my voice, a strangled cry rose from her lips, and she buried her face in her hands, shoulders shuddering with what I knew to be sobs.

And then I was at war. Part of my brain, the practical, logical part, told me to step away and leave, if this was her first reaction to my appearance. She must not want to see you, she still hasn't forgiven you, you should leave before you make things worse than they already are. It was a mistake to come here.

But the other part of me, which felt something like my heart, was urging the opposite. Go over there and comfort her, it said. You came here to try and make things right, didn't you? Well, now's your chance. Just walk over there and sit beside her, and if she doesn't seem to take it too badly then put your arm around her. She's obviously very distraught and likely in need of comfort right about now. And you know you can't wait to touch her again, to hold her, to breathe in the warm scent of her clothes and her hair and her skin, to feel the press of her body against yours….

One guess as to which part of me I chose to listen to.

XXXX

Rose

I buried my face in my hands, unwilling to let Tom see how he'd affected me, yet unable to stop my reaction, to hold back the tears that had built up inside me for so long. I expected him to simply walk away when he saw me, especially once I'd started crying, because who wants to comfort their ex-girlfriend from five years ago who they cheated on?

But the next thing I knew a warm body was pressed against mine, and I could smell the fabric softener on his clothes, and I knew it was no dream or trick or ghost. Tom was really here, sitting beside me on this roof on the night I turned twenty one.

And I was still crying.

As the tears trickled out, a tiredness seemed to seep into my bones, and I could no longer hold myself upright. I slumped against Tom, resting my head on his shoulder, uncaring of his reaction. I was just so exhausted, tired of taking care of myself and putting a good face on things and pretending I didn't hurt.

And then I was surprised for what seemed like the millionth time that night when Tom reached around me and pulled me onto his lap, settling my body against his torso and sliding my head to the crook of his neck. He folded his arms around me, holding me tight to his chest. I could feel him murmuring something, could hear the rumble of his voice in his chest, but I could not understand him through the fresh wave of tears cascading down at this new kindness. The more I cried, the tighter he held me, until all the tears were gone and all we were left with was each other.

I pulled slightly away from him, enough to speak, and I mumbled some apology for the large wet spot now present on his shirt. He looked down at me expressionlessly and said only one thing.

"Rose. We need to talk."

I hid my face against his shirt again.

XXXX

Tom

She sat in my lap, trembling slightly with the remnants of earlier sobbing, arms folded up in front of her and face pressed into my shoulder. Her breath came in short gusts, warm against my throat.

I couldn't help but be relieved, as if some huge weight I'd been carrying for the past several years had suddenly been lifted off my shoulders. Rose was here, in my arms. Even though she was bawling, I couldn't get over how good it felt. How right it felt to have her here, with me.

But when she finally quieted, I knew what had to happen next.

"Rose. We need to talk."

I could feel her shake ever so slightly as she nestled back against my chest, and all I wanted to do was hold her and make sure no one ever hurt her again. But there were a few things that had to be cleared up first.

"Rose. Look at me please."

She drew back to look into my face, and I missed her warmth.

But when it came time to talk about it, I had no words. Nothing I could think of would even go near to describing the past five years, or explaining anything that had happened. And I knew it would be the same for her.

So I did the only other thing I could think of.

I kissed her.

XXXX

Rose

His lips were soft and warm, and he tasted just as I remembered. He kissed me and kissed me, and when I could bear no more joy I pulled back. There was a deep sadness in his eyes.

I reached up and stroked his face. "Tom."

He just looked at me.

I sighed. "Where did we go so wrong?"

And then he took a deep breath, and started to tell a story.

His story.

Our story.


End file.
